Page 32 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

When she rolled her eyes at him, he did smile, however briefly.

“You don’t really want tea, do you?” she asked.

“I can want more than one thing at the same time.”

She wasn’t sure why that sounded like a threat. A promise. Complicated.

Did he know Petal was upstairs even now, vulnerable and helpless? Was that why he was here? It must be. Would he demand to look around? She did not know exactly how strong Bramble’s rabbit-magic shields were. They wouldn’t turn Petal entirely invisible, that much she knew.

Briar hung the kettle on its hook and swung it back over the fire, to stop herself from looking toward the stairs. She was not entirely sure how good she was at keeping secrets. She did not have much practice. She felt his gaze on her back. She was all nerves and exposed skin. She had never realized how vulnerable the back of one’s neck could feel.

And how it might not always be an unpleasant thing.

She clearly needed a proper night’s sleep. And a plate of cheese. Petal was convinced cheese solved most of life’s problems.

The wind blew in through the window, heavy with salt water and roses and approaching rain. She heard Ethan take a step closer to her. Goosebumps lifted along her nape, shivered down her spine.

And then one of the bottles of moonwater cracked.

Abruptly. Loudly.

The sound made her jump. She turned toward it just as another bottle exploded, sending shards ricocheting through the warm kitchen.

Ethan pressed her against the wall, brows drawn low as he shielded her with his body, hard and hot against hers. Every single bottle of moonwater, every bowl holding moonstones, every jar of dried moonflowers burst, shooting glass every which way. It sounded like the peppering fire of musket shot. Ethan did not move an inch. He stayed exactly where he was, arms on either side of her, tucking her head under his chin.

She had stabbed him with a fork just last night and now he was protecting her.

Behind him his familiar unfurled giant, burning wings, his scaled neck extending in another kind of armor, woven with glittering light. Briar had never seen a dragon familiar, nor any familiar as grand and majestic and severe. It would have taken her breath away if she’d had any left in her lungs.

The kitchen went quiet again, but Ethan remained where he was, only inching back far enough to lift her chin toward him. It was intimate, his infamously lethal focus entirely on her. “Are you cut?”

She shook her head. Puddles of water gleamed on the stone floor behind him, broken glass sparkling. “But you must have been cut,” she said softly.

He ran his palm over the back of his neck, wiping away spots of blood. “Barely scratched. Nothing at all like being stabbed with a fork.”

She winced. He only grinned, fleeting and rare. She might have only just met him, but anyone could see his grins were rare—the ones that reflected in his shadowed eyes, at least. They must be guarded more fiercely than pirate’s gold.

“Mind telling me what the hell that was about?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” It was a quiet question, but no less powerful than a demand at sword point. His voice wrapped around her like a velvet ribbon, tightening. “Lying to an Iron Crow, little thorn? You are brave.”

She swallowed, confused by the sensations running rampant throughout her body like a herd of wild horses. “Are you suggesting I exploded my own kitchen?”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“All right.”

She blinked. “All right? That’s it?”

His gaze pierced her. “Did you want more?”

Yes. No.

“I could be lying.”